


Kiss Kiss Fall In Love

by darksabre



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Gen, High School AU, M/M, Modern AU, don't even bother i'm serious, like so much crack, okay so this is totally crack, this is not my fault okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksabre/pseuds/darksabre
Summary: Scholarship student Fingon stumbles on a weirdly dramatic (and large) group of brothers while looking for a place to study in peace.Ouran High School Host Club AU





	Kiss Kiss Fall In Love

**Author's Note:**

> soooo whose fault is this  
> credit for the idea goes to all my friends on the silm discord congratulations you've birthed a .....something
> 
> I can't write anime-style dialogue to save my life so have a dramatic Mae instead

High school first-year Fingon pushed his glasses up on his nose as he left his last class of the day. He walked through the ostentatious halls of Ouran Academy, hoping to find somewhere quiet to study. He had found that the libraries (all four of them—Four! In one school!) were too noisy for his liking, full of other student making pretenses of working on homework, when it was obvious that they were really just there to be social. He didn’t know why anyone would bother to pretend to be studying if they really just wanted to talk. He was a scholarship student, there on the goodwill of the school board, and if he didn’t keep his grades up, he would loose this incredible opportunity. His father told him not to worry about it—Fingon was a good student, he had always been at the top of his class. But his father also told him that he needed more friends, and that was not something that Fingon was eager to pursue.  
  
School came first, being friends with annoying rich kids came in a distant second.  
  
Fingon could practically see the money falling off of the walls everywhere he looked. His family was by no means destitute, but neither were they so rich that they could afford the sorts of ridiculous things that this school chose to decorate with—nor could they afford to provide their eldest son with the uniform that the other students at his school wore, not that Fingon much cared. He was much more comfortable in jeans and a soft sweater than he would have been wearing the fancy pale blue suits that the other boys wore. The only thing he didn’t care for was the attention that it drew, because he stood out more than he would have liked. He preferred to blend into the crowd.  
  
Finally, the crowds of chattering students sort of blurred and faded away as Fingon turned into a more secluded hallway. The signs on the classrooms labeled them as music rooms, which made Fingon perk up a little bit. He was fond of music and secretly was rather fond of composing his own when he was alone—not that he’d admit it to anyone, of course. Some things, like teenage poetry, was intended to remain secret by the universe itself. Surely the Valar had declared that somewhere.  
  
But at least it was quiet here, and maybe he’d be able to get some homework done before he went home for the day. Three energetic younger siblings was a bit too much when one was trying to do homework, even if they were all pretty fond of each other. Fingon looked up and down the hallway and shrugged, figuring that one room was just as good as another, as long as they were quiet and empty. He picked one at random and pushed the door open.  
  
“And who are you?” a voice asked just as Fingon walked into the room he had thought was empty.  
  
Fingon jumped, startled, turning sharply and smacking someone.  
  
“Ow!” the same voice said, sounding deeply affronted.  
  
“I’m sorry!” Fingon squeaked, looking around wildly. “I didn’t—I didn’t know anyone was in here! I was just looking for a quiet place to study.”  
A tall slender boy with bright red hair was rubbing his arm where apparently Fingon had hit him. “Yeah, no, there are people here.” He was maybe a year or two older than Fingon, but was at least half a head taller. “You should be sorry, that was my arm you clobbered.”  
  
“Oh, shut up, Maedhros. You’re not hurt.” Another boy, not as tall as the red-head, but with similar facial features and dark hair, said with a roll of blue eyes behind his glasses. He was leaning on a wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t mind my brother, he’s a dramatic little shit. I’m Maglor Feanorion. You must be Fingon Fingolfinion.”  
  
“How’d—” Fingon started.  
  
“Oh, he knows everything,” a different red-haired boy said, popping up from behind a couch. By his size, Fingon guessed that he had to be in middle school still.  
  
“It’s kind of his job.” Another boy popped up from behind the couch. The two of them were nearly identical, and Fingon thought they might be twins.  
  
“Besides, everyone knows there’s a scholarship student,” the first twin said.  
  
“And you’re not wearing a uniform, and your jeans aren’t even a brand that I recognize,” the second said.  
  
“Ergo, you must be the scholarship student,” the two of them said in perfect sync.  
  
“Be polite, you two,” Maedhros said, dashing around to sit on the couch, one long leg crossed over the other. “Fingon is our guest here.”  
  
“But you were just mad at him for hitting you,” the twins grumbled at the same time.  
  
“But that’s beside the point!” Maedhros said, with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “He is now our guest.” He looked at Fingon and winked. “Don’t pay any attention to my baby brothers, they are a royal pain in the ass. I told Mother we didn’t need any more children after Curufin, but our parents did not listen.” He sighed dramatically.  
  
“How many siblings do you have?” Fingon gasped in amazement. He thought that the four children in his family were quite enough.  
  
“There’s seven of us,” Maedhros, Maglor, and the twins said at once.  
  
At that moment, a door banged open. “We’re baaaaacckk!” Two boys stumbled into with a flourish, holding out a giant box of cookies apiece.  
  
Maedhros jumped up. “Wonderful! You are just in time! We have a very special guest.”  
  
“Who, that guy?” one of them said, with a rather disdainful look at Fingon. “That’s the scholarship student.”  
  
“Yes, and he has a name,” Fingon said. “I am Fingon Fingolfinion.”  
  
“Yeah, so what?”  
  
“Why is everyone so insistent on being rude today, Maglor?” Maedhros said with a mournful sigh. “Amrod and Amras were rude, Caranthir is being rude…”  
  
“You were rude first,” the twins pointed out. They were now sitting on the back of the couch, each with an arm slung around the other. Fingon wondered which was which.  
  
“I was not,” Maedhros said. “I was merely pointing out that it hurts when people are inconsiderate enough to hit people.”  
  
“You startled me!” Fingon protested. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”  
  
“There, see? He’s not mad at me. Which is wonderful, because he’s gorgeous—shit. Did I say that out loud?”  
  
“Yes, you did!” a slight blond boy chirped cheerfully from where he was sitting on the shoulders of one of the others.  
  
Fingon blinked, entirely unsure what was going on.  
  
“Anyway,” Maedhros put an arm on Fingon’s shoulder. “You are the perfect hight for an armrest.” He waved a hand at all the others. “These are my brothers, except for Tyelpe there—” He pointed at the cheerfully smiling blond kid who was holding tightly onto a large stuffed dog. “He’s a cousin or something, I don’t know how we are related. I am the oldest, Maglor’s next, then Celegorm and Caranthir.” He pointed at the two boys who were still holding the boxes of cookies. “Then Curufin and the twins, Amrod and Amras.” Curufin was the muscular boy with Tyelpe on his shoulders. He looked at all of his brothers and said with a dramatic flourish, “Everyone, this is Fingon, and he is going to be part of our club.”  
  
“Wait, what am I doing?”  
  
“Surely you know that we run a host club,” Maedhros said, blue eyes wide with something that might have been an innocent question, but looked more like disbelief that Fingon had no idea what he was talking about.  
  
“A what?”  
  
“He flirts with girls,” Maglor said. “And drags the rest of us into it too.”  
  
“And in punishment for hitting me when we first met, you get to now be in our club.”  
  
“Hell no,” Fingon said, backing away slowly. “You’re nuts. Your brothers are also clearly nuts, I’m out of here.” As he was backing away slowly, he suddenly ran into something. There was a crash and Fingon stumbled. Maedhros caught his hand and pulled him up, setting him back on his feet.  
  
“Are you okay?” the tall boy asked, genuine concern in his eyes.  
  
“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” Fingon said, pulling his hand out of Maedhros’s.  
  
Maglor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, the vase you just broke isn’t fine. Do have any idea how much that was worth?”  
  
Fingon straightened his glasses and smoothed out the front of his sweater. “Uh…” Probably more than he could afford.  
  
“More than you can afford most likely,” Maglor grumbled. “I was going to see if we could auction it off to raise some money for my dear brother’s capricious stunts, but we clearly can’t do that now.”  
  
“Um, ah…” Fingon stammered.  
  
Maedhros grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “I guess you’ll just have to help us out now, won’t you? Maglor is a bit of a tightwad when it comes to cash, so he will insist that you pay him back. I think that’s bullshit, but at least you get to stick around and feast your eyes on my beauty.” He winked and ran a hand through his strikingly red hair. “Beauty should be appreciated,” he said theatrically. “You should fit in just fine, Fingon, after we get you some contacts and a proper uniform. A member of my host club can’t be seen in jeans and a ratty sweater!”  
  
“Hey!” Fingon protested. “This happens to be my favorite sweater!”  
  
“And it’s not up to school dress code,” Amrod—or maybe it was Amras?—said with a smirk. He had stolen a box of cookies from one of his brothers and was sharing it with his twin while playing keep-away with the brother he had taken it from.  
  
Maglor crossed the room and rifled through a closet and produced a suit jacket in the pale blue uniform color. “Here, this should fit you. You’re stuck with us now. Welcome to the host club.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> I will write another chapter this is too much fun not to


End file.
